Page 122 of Depravity

“Only, she’s not.” I reply.

“Yes, she is. They’re both the same, both stealing the men I want…”

“She didn’t steal anything.” I snap, losing my patience. “And I’ll be damned if you speak about my wife like that again…”

“Your what?” She hisses, cutting across me.

I grin the biggest fucking grin of my life, and I hold my hand up, letting her see the ring on my hand. I haven’t worn it before Brynn got taken. It felt too precarious, too risky, but now? Now it’s like I need every reminder I can get. And this ring, it feels like a good luck charm.

“My wife.” I state again.

“But, but, I’m your fiancée.” She gasps. “Our wedding is next week. I’m..”

“Nothing but a conniving little bitch.” I say. “You really think I would have married you?”

“Where is she?” Quinn asks. “Where is Brynn?”

“That’s the point.” I state. “My wife is gone, she’s been taken. And I think Giselle here knows more than she’s letting on.”

Giselle shakes her head, “I don’t…”

“Why the fuck did you make that diary? Why the fuck did you want my wife to believe that her parents were some sort of Romeo and Juliet bullshit?”

She blinks back at me, and then it’s like something hits her, like she realises how fucked she truly is. She ditches the ‘caring’ daughter act, and she turns, running as fast as she can.

Of course, she can’t outrun a bullet.

I pull the trigger, and watch with zero emotion as she screams, as she falls, as she lays there with her ankle shattered, bleeding profusely all over that pretty floor.

“Please…” She says, suddenly looking contrite.

“Where the fuck is my wife?” I ask again.

She starts sobbing, shaking her head. “I didn’t, I didn’t. I don’t know.”

I pull the trigger again, this time aiming for the hand nursing her damaged leg. It blows her fingers off. Three mangled digits go skidding across the floor, leaving a smear of blood while she starts screaming bloody murder.

“I told you Giselle, I’m going to kill you. But you get to decide if it will be quick or not.”

“I don’t want to die.” She gasps. “I don’t want to.”

I pull the trigger again, narrowly missing her hip, and it leaves a nice little hole in their pretty paraquet. “I don’t give a fuck what you want.” I state. “You will tell me where my wife is, or I will rip every inch of flesh from your rancid body, do you hear me?”

“For fucksake, Giselle,” Quinn growls. “Tell the man.”

“Really?” She says, “You’re siding with him, over your own flesh and blood?”

“He won’t kill you if you just tell him.”

I keep my face blank. I have no intention of honouring that, but whatever, if it gets me to where I want to be quicker, then fine. Let the bitch imagine there’s a cosy way out of this.

“It was a joke,” She says. “It was meant to make her think she was wanted, to make her go looking for him.”

“You mean the fake diary?” I clarify.

“Yes, I wanted her gone. I knew you were looking at her too much, I knew you wanted her. I thought if she was removed, then maybe she’d forget about her.”

“So, what happened then?”

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